


Something to Talk About

by UAgirl



Category: The Walking Dead
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2018-11-01 08:23:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 9,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10918017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UAgirl/pseuds/UAgirl
Summary: Because Across the Universe(s) is coming to an end, but my ideas are not, lol.A collection of Caryl drabbles, ficlets, and one-shots all based on dialogue prompts I've either been sent or stumbled upon someplace or another.All ratings are possible, multiple characters are probable, and there is always the potential for spoilers/speculation.Enjoy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First up: Have a little Caryl kiss. Sometime post Season 7.

**xx1xx**

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

"Can I kiss you?"

 

 

 

The question is soft. Nothing more than a breath of air really. But she hears it. She feels it, right down to her bones, and his face. His dear, unreadable face blurs before her eyes. Her teeth sink into her lower lip, and a sound between a sob and utter joy threatens to bubble free, and she's nodding because words have deserted her. They've all left. All the gentle teasing of years gone by. All the brave innuendos meant to make him blush. She's the one burning now, the one whose skin is tingling and whose heart is taking flight, and dear God. He's so close. He's so warm. He's so Daryl, and his hands are shaking just as much as hers. They're rough and they're gentle and they're cupping her face, and his nose. It nuzzles her own, shy and unsure. His lashes flutter against her damp skin. And his mouth. It's clumsy and sweet and all things good. A little too eager, a little too hurried, but it's Heaven all the same, warm and wet and wondrous as it gives and it gives and it gives, until they're panting against each other's lips and her hands are clutching at the breadth of his shoulders, and she smiles. She laughs, joyous and bright, shaky because she's still trembling head to toe, but so is he. So is he, but his blue eyes shine, and his mouth curls in that little half lip smile she fell in love with one hundred and one wars and a lifetime ago, and her hands find his hair. Her forehead rests against his, and his thumb maps out her happiness, commits it and the moment to memory, and the words just come, light and teasing, a callback and a challenge one in the same. "Took you long enough."

 

 

 

"Pfft. Stop."

 

 

 

"Why don't you make me?"


	2. "I can't let you do that."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don’t even know what this is, guys. Speculation? Wishful thinking? I really don’t know. Just me working through some dialogue prompts trying to shake the writer’s block dust off, and I guess I’ve been reading and checking out too many filming spoilers/pics, lol. This probably has literally zero basis in reality, but eh. I don’t care. Anything that gets the creative juices flowing again can’t be all bad, huh? I’m not 100% happy with it, but then again, I never am, lol. 
> 
> Just a moment in an alleyway.

**xx2xx**

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

"I can't let you do that."

 

 

 

Scrubbing a tired hand over her face, Carol sighed. "Daryl, it's a good plan."

 

 

 

Daryl wouldn't hear of it. His jaw set in stubborn determination, his stride sharp and tight, he whirled back to face her, the quiet, lurking presence of Tara and Morgan not even registering with him. "Naw."

 

 

 

"Carol's right," Morgan interjected. "Our chances are better if we split up."

 

 

 

"Don't remember askin' for your opinion," Daryl snapped as he prowled the alleyway. A couple more restless circuits, and he stalked right back up to Carol, toe to toe, and searched her eyes long and hard. "You really gonna do this?"

 

 

 

Carol's hand sought out his, and their fingertips touched for a brief but lingering moment. "It's a good plan."

 

 

 

Shaking his head, Daryl's steely gaze softened as it mapped her face and gravel laced his tone. "It's a shit plan. Don't like you goin' it alone."

 

 

 

Her lips twitching with the hint of a suppressed smile at his protectiveness, Carol let her hand fall against his chest and rest directly over his pounding heart. "I'm a big girl, Pookie," she murmured. "I can handle myself."

 

 

 

He huffed out a strangled sound then, his lips twisting into a scowl. "The fuck am I goin' to do with you?"

 

 

 

"Oh, I can think of a few things." With a grin big and bright and brimming with promise, Carol lifted on her toes and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth that had him whimpering low in his throat when she rocked back on her heels.

 

 

 

The light moment didn't last long. It stretched with the weight of a million words left unsaid, and Daryl's gruff voice was aching with it as he implored her, "Stay safe."

 

 

 

Blue eyes soft and shimmering in the shadows, Carol uttered a familiar refrain. "Nine lives, remember? Give or take a few."

 

 

 

"Don't," Daryl grit out.

 

 

 

Once more, Morgan interrupted the fraught moment, this time his voice filled with a sense of urgency neither could ignore any longer. "We're running out of time."

 

 

 

Tara fell into step beside Morgan, but not before reaching out and placing a calming hand on Daryl's forearm when he would have reached for Carol and hauled her back into the safety of his wanting arms. "Dude. She's got this. We all do. Just…"

 

 

 

"If we're going to do this, we have to do it now."

 

 

 

Daryl's eyes met Carol's one more time across the way, and he dipped his chin, shouldered his crossbow. "Better get a fuckin' move on then. Go."

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is love. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!!!


	3. "They always make shower sex sound so appealing, but honestly?  This is getting dangerous."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Established Caryl in Alexandria. Post Season 7, wishful thinking Season 8. After shit is settled.

**xx3xx**

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

"They always make shower sex sound so appealing, but honestly? This is getting dangerous."

 

 

 

Daryl snorted and gathered her soap-slick body up in his strong arms, just leaned back against the tiled wall and rested there because shit. He was too tired and old for this anyway, and his weary bones longed for the softness of their shared bed, even if his dick was still valiantly trying to convince him otherwise. "They? I know this they?"

 

 

 

Carol huffed a laugh against his damp collarbone and dragged her nails lazily across his ass. "Shut up."

 

 

 

"Pfft. C'mon. Water's getting cold anyway."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is love. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!!!


	4. "Hey, hey.  Calm down.  They can't hurt you anymore."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Season 8 wishful thinking. Just a quiet midnight moment between Daryl and Carol. 
> 
> Right now, she’s counting each steady beat of his heart as her breath grows long, and the shadows hold the softness of possibility.

**xx4xx**

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

"Hey, hey. Calm down. They can't hurt you anymore."

 

 

 

The words are murmured into her ear, punctuated with kisses soft and sweet and so very like the Daryl only she knows, the one that brought her that fragile white flower in a beer bottle a lifetime ago, told her a story of tears and hope, reached out to her when the rest of their family didn't know what to do with her and her grief, that she smiles through the tears that dampen her face, snuggles in deeper to the quiet comfort he offers. It is both familiar and not, the easy way he takes her into his arms, the way he holds her tightly through the worst of it, when her heart is pounding like thundering drumbeats in her chest and she cannot catch her breath. It is an echo of their shared past, and a gateway to their hopes for the future, and for the first time in a long while, there are hopes.

 

 

 

Negan and the Saviors have all been defeated, their stain removed from around these parts. The communities that banded together to take them down work together still, coexist and continue to grow their numbers and resources with each day that passes.

 

 

 

Their world, in so many, many ways, is alive again, and so, Carol is reminded as he tucks his face between that tender space between her neck and her shoulder and makes her tremble with the unconscious way he nuzzles her, are they. Softly, she sighs.

 

 

 

As he so often does these days, Daryl reads her guilt in the things she doesn't say, rumbles out a gruff admonishment against her sweat-dampened skin. "Don't."

 

 

 

She rubs her nose against his elbow, presses a distracted kiss to the faint silver scar she finds there. "Still sorry."

 

 

 

Daryl shrugs behind her. "Weren't asleep."

 

 

 

It's the truth. They've been doing this long enough now, sharing whatever four walls and a roof they happen to be under at night, that she knows he's telling her the truth, knows he wouldn't even think to tell her differently because they're them, Carol and Daryl finding their way at the beginning of a brand-new world. Still. "I'm okay. Really."

 

 

 

Daryl merely hums into the curls of her hair, tightens his arms in a way he wouldn't have before, no matter how much he might have wanted to, no matter how much she might have needed it. She's telling the truth, too, because whatever else she is these days, family to Alexandria, friend to the Kingdom, liaison between the Hilltop and the rest of them, she's okay. At least she's getting there, and he likes to think that this, whatever it is they're doing, is at least partially responsible. "Need me to stay?"

 

 

 

Her hand finds his along her waist, and she laces their fingers together, shakes her head. "No." When he would move away from her, though, she squeezes his hand. "But I want you to." He melts into her then, a solid wall of warmth against her back, her legs, even her feet, and she lifts their joined hands to her mouth, presses her smile into his calloused skin. Somehow, he knows. He always does, and if he can feel her smile painted into the whirls of his skin, she can hear his in the soft, sleepy gravel of his voice.

 

 

 

"Stop."

 

 

 

She wants to kiss that boyish curl of his mouth, turn in his arms and take this easy intimacy of theirs even further, but like the peaceful night that cloaks them in darkness, it has been too hard-won, too long-coming for such an unnecessary risk. He's not going anywhere, and neither is she. Tomorrow isn't promised, but right now? Right now, she's counting each steady beat of his heart as her breath grows long, and the shadows hold the softness of possibility. She's already drifting, and he is a little, too, when she whispers a fervent wish. "Stay."

 

 

 

"Ain't goin' nowhere."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is love. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!!!


	5. "Mm.  Your kid before five in the morning."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Totally AU. Fluffy, married Caryl with kids. That’s about it. No real plot to think of, and it’s about as filling as cotton candy, but I needed the pick-me-up, and it seems some on my dash need it as well. Enjoy. 
> 
>  
> 
> Just a lazy Saturday morning.

**xx5xx**

 

* * *

 

 

 

"Mm. Your kid before five in the morning."

 

 

 

Grinning against the base of his wife's neck, Daryl snaked an arm around her waist and hauled her back until they shared the same pillow and their limbs were hopelessly tangled together. "Might wanna think about openin' your eyes, Sweetheart."

 

 

 

With a low whine, Carol swatted at the wandering hand that had taken to toying with the drawstring of her pajamas and burrowed deeper beneath their little cocoon of blankets. "No."

 

 

 

"No, hmm?"

 

 

 

Carol had about two seconds' notice before he tucked his scruffy face between her neck and her shoulder and did his best impersonation of their lovebug shepherd mix, currently sequestered on the other side of their closed bedroom door and not liking it one bit if the insistent scrabbling of nails against the wooden surface were any indication. She erupted into helpless laughter and very nearly head-butted him when he did it again, throwing a couple of noisy kisses to her sensitive skin in for good measure. "DDDaaarrryyylll."

 

 

 

Daryl huffed out a wheezing chuckle when the bony ridge of her elbow nailed him in the ribs and wisely let go of her before she could do any more damage, falling to his back on their mattress and squinting at the digital alarm clock on the nightstand. "What 'bout after seven?" he dared to ask, unable to keep the humor out of his voice even when it earned him a pillow to his face and his arms full of his exasperated spouse.

 

 

 

Sitting astride his hips, a wild tangle of auburn curls framing her pouting face, Carol crossed her arms beneath her breasts and tried to keep the twinkle out of her blue eyes. She was ultimately unsuccessful, dropping her hands to rest on his chest as she bent to kiss his smiling mouth, so completely and thoroughly that he whined when she pulled away, raising his head to nip teasingly at her bottom lip and gripping her waist to hold her in place as he bucked up between her thighs. With a breathless little moan, she shook her head, rubbing her thumbs back and forth over his twitching lips. "Dirty rotten cheater."

 

 

 

"Drop the innocent act," Daryl smirked. "Both know you ain't opposed to gettin' your hands dirty." The veiled reminder of their after-dinner activities of the night before made a pretty pink blush bloom on her cheeks, and he followed its path beneath the neckline of the threadbare cami she loved to wear to bed, dragging a blunt nail over the faint dusting of enticing freckles on her cleavage. He had just raised his head to capture her mouth in another kiss when the cry came again, only this time it wasn't coming from the baby monitor stationed next to the clock. It was coming from behind their bedroom door, and they barely had time to separate before the knob was turning and Sophia's rumpled bedhead appeared then the rest of her body, one arm holding the youngest member of the Dixon clan precariously against her side.

 

 

 

"Mama," the tiny girl grumbled as the dog eagerly darted in front of her, leaping onto the bed and nosing between them for some wet, exuberant kisses of its own before Carol had a chance to free herself from the blankets that bound her and relieve her daughter of her wiggling, red-faced burden. "Brother woke me up again."

 

 

 

"'Phia," Daryl spoke up from the bed, a pillow strategically placed over his lap. "What we tell you 'bout takin' your brother out of his crib by yourself?"

 

 

 

"But you and Mama were taking too long," Sophia protested with a pout, her small fingers finding and burrowing beneath the waistband of her mother's pajamas as she sought the protection of her embrace. "He sounded scared."

 

 

 

Carol feathered gentle fingers through her little girl's hair while the baby rubbed his tearful face against her breastbone, not scared, thankfully, but decidedly hungry. Mindful of the delicate tightrope Daryl was still walking each day as he worked to gain Sophia's full trust and acceptance as her stepfather, she merely murmured her agreement. "I know you're a big girl now, Baby, and thank you for worrying and caring about your little brother so much. But Daryl's right. You should wait for one of us. Okay?"

 

 

 

"Okay," Sophia muttered into her shirt. Peeking at Daryl with shy hazel eyes, she mumbled out an apology. "M'sorry."

 

 

 

Meeting Carol's eyes first, Daryl glanced down at Sophia, so small and guarded still in his presence, even after all these months, and softened. "S'alright. This time. Know you were just tryin' to help." When the child visibly relaxed, he leaned over to grab the television remote from the nightstand and beckoned her over. "Seein' as you're already awake and all, what say me and you check out some cartoons while your mama takes care of the little man's breakfast?"

 

 

 

"Really?" Sophia perked up.

 

 

 

"Really," Daryl answered, peeling back the blankets and patting the space beside him. That was all the encouragement their canine cuddler needed, licking a broad swipe across Daryl's stubble-roughened cheek and laying belly up against his side, whining and practically begging for affection.

 

 

 

"Scout," Sophia grinned as she scrambled on her hands and knees to the center of the bed. "Scoot over. That's my spot."

 

 

 

The dog, really nothing more than an overgrown puppy, barked at her and easily rolled to its feet, sniffing at the tangled nest of her hair before licking her sloppily on the chin and toppling her to the mattress below.

 

 

 

The uproarious giggles coming from his sister's small body startled the baby into momentary silence and he stared at the scene with wide, wet blue eyes before starting to fret again. He settled somewhat when snuggled close, but the reprieve wasn't long-lasting. He was a Dixon, after all, quick tempered and prone to bouts of impatience, and he quickly worked himself into quite a fit, much to Daryl's chagrin.

 

 

 

"Your kid all day long," Carol remarked with a wry smile as she returned to the bed and settled back against the headboard, resting the screaming baby between her raised knees and her chest while she slid one shoulder free of her shirt.

 

 

 

Snorting in amused agreement when the tiny boy immediately latched on and started nursing greedily, grunting with pleasure before his tears had even had a chance to dry completely, the words were out of Daryl's mouth before he had time think them through and censor them. "Definitely a boob man."

 

 

 

"Daryl!"

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is love. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!!!


	6. "You left without saying goodbye...I hate you for that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. This is a weird little ball of angst set post Season 7 into Season 8 (if *I* were writing the show, hahaha, they'd be in every episode together and we'd get all of this and then some). I started writing it for the smut challenge over at 9L, but I lost my nerve half-way through. It's pretty different than my original, more fleshed out, explicit vision, but what can I say? I'm a chicken when it comes to exposing you guys to any smut that I write and tend to tone things down. Way down. No tomatoes, please.
> 
> Rated M for adult language and sexual situations, Remember. No tomatoes, lol. And please forgive any insomnia-overlooked typos.

 

**_..._ **

* * *

**_..._ **

**xx6xx**

**...**

* * *

**...**

**_"You left without saying goodbye…I hate you for that."_ **

**_..._ **

* * *

 

 

 

**It ain't as easy as falling into bed together.**

 

 

 

( _they do. before the War is over. and it's terrifying and exhilarating. feels like falling out of an airplane without a parachute. least the way he imagines it, but. it's soft, too. aching. and he feels everything. everything all at once, but time's not something they have the luxury to take. not yet._ )

 

 

 

 

**But when they do. When they do, her smiles are still tempered with something untouchable and her blue eyes are veiled with secrets that fill him with a heaviness that burdens them both, and yet. Some part of him just knows.**

 

 

 

( _he don't say nothing, though. just kisses her mouth a little sweeter. lingers on all those places that make her sigh. that make her forget. she never does, though. not really. just buries it a little deeper._ )

 

 

 

 

**Little by little, she comes back to him.**

 

 

 

 

_(piece by broken piece of her, and it hurts. goddamn, does it hurt, because all that aloof numbness melts away, and the pain's just a raw, fucking nerve. exposed and ugly, it lashes out. spews hurtful lies._ )

 

 

 

 

 

**"You left without saying goodbye…I hate you for that."**

 

 

 

 

( _thing is, he thought she understood. maybe, once upon a time, she did. maybe she never really did. it don't matter, though. 'cause he could say the same thing. does._ )

 

 

 

 

**"How you think I felt? That ever cross your mind?"**

 

 

 

( _there's anger in their kisses that night when he fucks her. when she allows it. bared teeth and rough hands. nothing but empty release and regret. he swears he can smell the burn of ashes in the air, feel a thick blackness start up again like a cancer in his bones.)_

 

 

 

**Turns out, the little Kingdom house is too small for all of their ghosts. And Alexandria? He's tired of wearing sheep's clothes, knows she is, too, so they take Maggie up on her offer and head to Hilltop.**

 

 

 

_(they're careful. so careful with each other. like they were back at the Farm when Sophia walked out of that barn. like they were after Terminus and Grady and fuck if he ain't tired of it. because maybe she don't know it. maybe she's just forgot. but her pain is his. her happiness, too. and it's past damn time they allowed themselves to feel something good. to enjoy it and stop punishing themselves.)_

 

 

 

**It ain't as easy as just deciding, either.**

 

 

 

( _because_ _she gives him her body. but not her demons. those dark angels linger and she wraps herself in them and that too-bright smile and his blankets like armor. he ain't fooled. still, he allows it. fuck else is he going to do?_ )

 

 

 

 

**Then the baby comes, looking just like his daddy, and those last sharp remnants fall into place. There's no relief in clarity. No joy in the revelation, but there's a certain sort of beauty in the breakdown because he's got his arms around her when she tells him about that little girl and her bloody halo of yellow flowers. And when he confesses his own sins, she silently holds the shattered pieces of his heart in her gentle hands and cries. They both do.**

 

 

 

( _the sun sinks below the horizon and they sleep. when the pale pink light of morning finds them again, she kisses him. no more secrets tucked behind her tongue. his either. just a soft smile on her lips and he kisses her back._ )

 

 

 

 

**It ain't as easy as loving her—trying. Nothing in this world is ever gonna be, but it's worth it.**

 

 

 

( _he told her once they get to start over. so many miles from where it all began, too many heartaches and losses to name, that's exactly what they do._ )

 

 

 

 

* * *

...

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Feedback is the ultimate show of love.


	7. "The way you flirt is shameful."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternatively, the one where Daryl acts like a big cat. Because that super cute Caryl art is going around again, and it's partially responsible for this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm. Let's see. I'm thinking early Prison era with this one, so Season 3. Although, it doesn't have to be anchored to any concrete timeline to work, IMO.

****** **

**xx7xx**

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

He looks a little worse for wear-grimy hands, dirty cheeks, his sweaty hair hanging in his face and all but hiding his blue eyes.

 

 

 

 

Basically, he looks like he always does. Like _Daryl_. Or more particularly, _Daryl_ _after_ _a_ _hunt_ , and it's only then that Carol notices the blood-stained bag slung over one broad shoulder. It doesn't stay there long and she wants to squeal when he tosses it at her feet and the vacant eyes of a most unlucky opossum stares up at her. She wants to. But she smirks instead. "The way you flirt is just shameful."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is love. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!!!


	8. "Come back to bed."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Season 4 AU. The Grove. But a few things are different. Read it. You’ll see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one’s silly and pretty much sucks, lol. I didn’t do the picture in my head any justice at all, but I had a mighty need, so. I may even take it down and do a redo later (but I wrote and posted it at 2 am, so you get to read crappy fanfic).

 

 

**xx8xx**

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

Daryl’s side of the bed is empty. 

 

 

 

 

It’s the first thing Carol registers before the world blinks into a dreamlike focus, the edges blurred and softened, the details hazy.   His side of the bed is empty, just his lonely imprint in the sheets and the faint scents of wood smoke and sugar-sweet pralines remaining, and she’s cold.  Winter’s chill is seeping into her bones and setting up a low throb.  Her fingers and toes prickle with it, and she pulls the blankets up to her chin.  

 

 

 

 

Behind the parted curtains, ice laces the window panes.  Outside, white flakes float like whispers on the sighing wind. 

 

 

 

 

It’s pretty, picturesque and perfect in a way that doesn’t exist anymore, like a snow globe, and she presses her bittersweet smile into her pillow with the thoughts of her lost little girl, of the little girls they’ve lost since they happened upon this Grove.  Fatigue wraps its insistent fingers around her burdened body, coaxes her into its embrace, and she drifts again.   

 

 

 

Daryl’s side of the bed is still empty. 

 

 

 

 

But his shadow darkens the bedroom door when she opens her eyes again, and he’s all lean lines and strength, gentle hesitance as one rough hunter’s hand cradles Judith close to his chest and the other rests atop Mika’s honeyed head.  “Daryl,” she murmurs, her voice all sleepy soft and encouraging.  “Come back to bed.” 

 

 

 

Shy feet shuffle and stumble across the cold wood floor, and the covers rustle as they are lifted.  ****

 

 

 

Mika burrows beneath the pile of blankets and curls around Carol like a lazy kitten, her chilly nose tucked into the well of her throat and her arm tossed carelessly across the prominent swell of her belly.  Judith frets quietly and finally settles, her tiny hand fisted in the worn plaid fabric covering Daryl’s broad shoulder until her face gradually smooths back into sleep. 

 

 

 

 

Daryl’s side of the bed is no longer empty. 

 

 

 

He watches Carol with soft blue eyes and an apologetic curl of his lip, makes a feeble attempt at explaining.  “Thought it’d be warmer.” 

 

 

 

She smiles because it is.  It’s cozy, too.  And she teases him in between yawns and soothing rubs of her belly, shifts her own legs restlessly.  “Cuddle puddles always are.”  ****

 

 

 

 

“Pfft.”  His lips move over Judith’s fine strawberry hair in an absent kiss before he frowns.  “Hell’s a cuddle puddle?  Just sharin’ body heat.” 

 

 

 

**“** _Right_ **.”**

 

 

 

“Stahp.” 

 

 

 

Daryl’s side of the bed is never empty again.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is love so send me some. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!!!


	9. "Here.  Lemme see."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post Series Fluff with Judith. Nothing but sugar here, lovelies.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**xx9xx**

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kid’s all big brown eyes and sass, always running ninety to nothing around this place like she owns it, and today?  Well, it ain’t no different. 

 

 

 

 

From his vantage point on the shaded porch, one hip propped against the peeling porch rail, Daryl’s been watching her.  Been growing more suspicious with each pass she makes between the house Carl’s done moved into and claimed as his own in a show of teenaged impulsiveness and this one.  And on her last trip, when she comes scuttling up those steps again with her Hello Kitty rainboots clomping around little feet that still haven’t grown into them, he decides to do a little light investigating.  _So_.  Quick as an ornery old cat, one long, lean arm darts out and his blunt fingers snag her belt loops, use them to reel her in.  When he has her, snared in his trap and looking none too happy about it, he affects his most intimidating scowl.  “Hold up.  Hold up.  Where you think you goin’?” 

 

 

 

 

Course, Ass Kicker doesn’t look threatened in the least.                                                                                                    

 

 

 

 

_No_.  That proud little chin goes up, and she looks so much like her mama in that moment, a small shiver makes it way up Daryl’s spine, seeps right into his bones, and he loosens his hold.  Softens his voice, too, because he’s got a sixth sense about these things—comes from being observant.  It pays off, because that’s all it takes for the little girl to let down her guard, just enough, and a slow smile crawls across his face. 

 

 

 

 

Kid’s got a big pocket across the front of them denim overalls she’s taken to wearing night and day—they’re too big, too—and that flicker of a toothless smile of hers sinks her because she’s got crumbs sticking to the corners of her mouth.   _Cookie_ _crumbs_. 

 

 

 

 

He holds out his free hand, palm up, and wiggles his fingers at her.  “Here.  Lemme see.” 

 

 

 

 

Torn between denial and a blurted confession, Judith finally sighs and digs one worse for wear cookie from her pocket, reluctantly drops it into his palm.  Even her frayed pigtails look resigned as she scratches a dirty fingernail over the end of her freckled nose and tilts her head at him.  “Carl was hungry.” 

 

 

 

 

Daryl bites back a bark of laughter ‘cause Carl ain’t the one standing on his porch with the evidence all over his person, but he reckons it’s not a complete lie.  The boy may want his independence, but there’s a reason he picked the house across the street and not one clear across Alexandria.  “Just Carl?” 

 

 

 

 

Skinny shoulders lift in a noncommittal shrug and those big brown eyes look anywhere but at him. 

 

 

 

 

Seems ‘Chonne’s lectures on honesty have taken a little bit of a foothold in the kid—he supposes a nose that grows and grows with each lie ain’t too big a stretch in a world where the dead roam the earth—and he waits for her to break.  Course, he helps her along.  “What would Carol say, huh?” 

 

 

 

 

That little mouth pinches and guilt furrows her brows. 

 

 

 

 

Kid looks like she wants the ground to swallow her up, and maybe she does because Daryl ain’t never been a fan of disappointing Carol himself, hates it more than almost anything, and it looks like maybe Jude’s the same.  Letting go of her belt loops, he tugs at one of her pigtails to regain her attention.  “Hey.” 

 

 

 

 

The little girl meets his squinted gaze with some difficulty, her own eyes welling with something akin to remorse. 

 

 

 

 

“Might could put in a good word for ya,” he offers. 

 

 

 

 

“Really?” Judith asks hopefully.  Her fingers gravitate to one of her long braids, and she brushes the wispy tip against her lips, back and forth.  Back and forth while she stares up at him. 

 

 

 

 

“Yeah,” Daryl nods.  “Yeah.  Could do it.  You’d have to do the apoligizin’ yourself.  Carl, too.  M’pretty sure, though, I could convince her to go easy on you two.  If…” 

 

 

 

 

“If what?” the little girl presses impatiently. 

 

 

  
 

“I’ll tell you,” Daryl lowers his voice.  “But you have to do exactly what I say.”  It don’t take long for him to whisper his instructions in Ass Kicker’s listening ear.  Takes even less time for her to hurry her way back down those steps and scoot across the street, disappear behind her big brother’s door.  He smirks as he imagines the scene unfolding, and he’s still smiling to himself when he hears the door creak open behind him.  Feels her arms slide around his waist from behind.  “Found your Cookie Monster.”  

 

 

 

 

She laughs softly, drops a kiss to his shoulder before lifting his arm and curling into his side.  “I heard.”  Her blue eyes dance as he nuzzles kisses into her silver hair and she tips her head back. 

 

 

 

 

“Knew who it was all along, didn’t ya?”  He strokes the rough pads of his fingers down the line of her neck, lets them dip beneath the scooped collar of the shirt she’s wearing to tickle over an enticing trail of freckles and delights in the stutter of her breath, the shiver she doesn’t even attempt to hide from him.

 

 

 

 

“We never would have gotten married if I wasn’t observant,” she quips as she raises on her toes to kiss the corner of his mouth, traces her own fingertips across his cheeks and the blush that stains them.  “Not too many women left in this world can read the Dixon signs.” 

 

 

 

 

“Signs are those?” he asks gruffly but he don’t need no answer ‘cause he knows.  Knows he’s damn lucky it was her he fell in love with.  Her that figured it out even ‘fore he did.  He takes her smiling mouth in a kiss before she can answer, gentle and deep.  _Lingering_.  When he pulls back, her eyes are still closed, and he can’t resist stealing one more taste of her lips. 

 

 

 

 

“Oh, you know,” she murmurs.

 

 

 

 

One corner of his mouth lifts in a tiny smile as he allows her to capture his hands, weave their fingers together and tug.   “Do.  Reckon I do.”      

 

 

 

 

“C’mon, Pookie.  Something tells me cookie monsters eat a lot for dinner.”     

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is love so leave me some. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!!!


	10. "You drunk?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hmm. This started out as a Prison ficlet but somewhere along the way it morphed into (hopeful) Season 8 sweetness. I hope you guys don’t mind.

**xx10xx**

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

He doesn’t see it coming.  Just has time enough to catch a flash of determination in the blue shimmer shine of her eyes before she sets his head to spinning, his heart to pounding out a frantic tattoo against his ribs. 

 

 

 

_The soft, off-center press against the corner of his mouth.  The shy kitten lick against his chapped lips.  The playful parry with his startled tongue as her hands clasp tight around his shoulders._

 

 

 

His buckling knees and her forward momentum send them stumbling back, and the jarring impact has him grunting into her mouth, one hand fisting helplessly in the worn material of her tank top as their lips separate, and shit if his heart doesn’t stutter to a stop.  Because she’s painted in stardust and a pretty pink flush, and each heaving breath she takes brings her in closer contact with him if that’s even fucking possible, and he has to know because there’s a party inside, a celebration of life and second chances with friends and family and no shortage of wine.  “You drunk?” 

 

 

 

 

_The flirty flutter of her fingers against his nape.  The hum of her laughter against his sweat-slick collarbone.  The nuzzle of her nose against his scruff and the nudge of her boots against his own._

 

 

 

The shake of her silver head pulls something akin to a growl from his mouth, and she swallows up the rumble.  Raises up on her toes and cups gentle hands over his jaw, coaxing out a whimper that melts into a disbelieving sigh.  His rough, shaking hands find her slim hips and his forehead falls to the sweet juncture of her neck.    

 

 

 

_The tangle of her fingers in his own.  The freckles he worships like celestial bodies.  The sleepy curl of her in his arms._

 

 

 

Daryl Dixon’s heart finally knows calm. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is love. 
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> Thanks for reading!!!


	11. "Don't look down."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl + Sophia. And no. I don’t mean romantically because yuck!!!
> 
>  
> 
> Season 2 Chupacabra AU.

**xx11xx**

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

He’s soaked to the bone and shivering, got a whole damn marching band going metal in his head and half a bolt still speared through his side, but Daryl Dixon’s happy and the reason why is sitting right next to him. 

 

 

 

 

The girl is filthy, her strawberry hair hanging limply around her face and her freckles lost beneath a few layers of dirt.  She’s small and she’s silent, stick thin arms wrapped around skinned knees and that raggedy doll, the whites of her wide eyes glowing in the fading light as she stares ahead.   

 

 

 

 

He hasn’t heard one peep out of the kid since she’d screamed his name, come crashing through the tree cover to warn him of the dead pricks trying to make an afternoon snack of him, and he’d be worried, but _shit_.  He understands all too-well the fear of being forever lost.  Then again, _he_ hadn’t had to worry about outrunning the living dead.  _Still_.  She’s here.  Real and alive, not some fever dream messing with his head, and he reckons he can offer up some words of advice, distract her from the hungry, rasping growls that echo up the steep ravine and seem to rattle around the tiny cave they’ve taken refuge in—if you can even call the rocky overhang that.  “Don’t look down.” 

 

 

 

 

Water rushes and splashes below, rocks slide and tumble, and Carol’s girl? 

 

 

 

 

She whimpers, so soft he barely even hears it, and that’s the thing he’s noticed about the kid, going all the way back to the Quarry.  She never tries to draw attention to herself.  She’s always quiet and careful, fearful in a way that resonates deep in his own bones and it’s that recognition that played its part in leading him here, wouldn’t allow him to give up on finding her.  Because the hell of it is?  It may be the end of the world, but he recognizes a second chance when he sees it, and the girl and her mama more than deserved it to his way of thinking.  “Your mama’s gonna to be real relieved to see you.   _Happy_.”    It’s both the best and the worst thing to say because those big Bambi eyes of hers get all shiny and before he knows it, twin silver trails are cutting through all the mud and the muck on her cheeks and dripping off her chin.  It wobbles and he wants to curse.    

 

 

 

 

“She’s okay?”

 

 

 

 

The whispered question creeps past his lowered defenses and plucks hard at his heartstrings, damn near strangles him till his voice comes out in the gruffest of registers.  “Doin’ just fine other than missin’ ya.  Been keepin’ herself busy makin’ things nice for when ya get back.” 

 

 

 

 

She bites her lip and more tears well and spill over.  “She’s not mad?” 

 

 

 

 

“Hell she be mad ‘bout?” he asks, twisting and turning to get a better look at her and making fire spark and shoot through his wounded side.  Fresh blood seeps through the torn material of his shirt and he glances down at her gasp to see a slowly expanding rose of red. 

 

 

 

 

“You’re hurt.” 

 

 

 

 

He tries for a reassuring smile but it ends up being more of a grimace.  “Just a scratch.”  Soon as it’s out of his mouth, he’s groaning at his own choice of words and explaining because she’s gone a whiter shade of pale beneath all that dirt and she’s looks like a fawn tasting danger in the air, ready to bolt any minute.  “Shit.  Didn’t mean to…fell on one of my arrows.  Damn horse got spooked by a…”  With her eyes growing wider by the second, he decides it’s best not to mention the snake, trapped as they are for the time being on this dark, narrow ledge of rock.  “Point is, I ain’t been bit.” 

 

 

 

 

“Promise?” 

 

 

 

 

He supposes the question’s valid, what with Jim and all, so he answers her with equal solemnity.  “Wouldn’t lie to you, ‘Phia.  Promise.” 

 

 

 

 

She calms by degrees, unfolds those skinny legs of hers and scoots a little closer.  

 

 

 

 

He’s not sure she even notices it.  But he does and he fights against flinching, takes a deep breath that ends in another groan and a helpless wince because _fuck_.  His side hurts like a sonuvabitch.  “S’alright,” he grits out. 

 

 

 

 

She doesn’t look fully convinced but she doesn’t say anything, just draws her bony arms through the sleeves of her stained rainbow shirt and wraps them around herself for warmth.  Exhaustion settles heavily over her narrow shoulders and they sag. 

 

 

 

 

“Why dontcha close your eyes and get some sleep?” he suggests.  They’re not going anywhere, least not anytime soon and not with the sun sinking fast and low over the trees.  It’d be a stupid ass thing to do on his own, taking off in the dark injured as he is.  He sure as hell ain’t taking the risk with a scared little girl.  Though the old man’s horse is probably halfway home already, he ain’t planning on leaving his and Sophia’s fate up to Shane’s good will.  “Morning comes, we’re goin’ back.” 

 

 

 

 

A shiver makes its way down her curved spine, not from the cooling air but from memory.  “To the highway?” 

 

 

 

 

He’s quick to shake his head, even though it does little to quell his headache.  “Found a farm.  Some people.” 

 

 

 

 

“Nice people?” she asks, shrinking even further back from the narrow lip of their rock perch and bumping right into him when the growls start up again.  She freezes for just a moment before settling in. 

 

 

 

 

“Seem nice enough,” he tells her.  Near as he can tell, it’s the truth.  So’s the next thing out of his mouth.  “They can’t hurt us up here.  Not much for climbin’ so you do what I said and rest up.”  He softens his voice even further, feeling his own fatigue creep back up on him.  “Morning comes, I’m takin’ you back to your mama and she ain’t gonna be mad.  Can promise you that.  She’s probably gonna cry.  Reckon she’s gonna hug you so tight you ain’t gonna be able to breathe and you’re gonna hug her back just as hard.  But bein’ mad’s gonna be the furthest thing from her mind, ya hear?”  She doesn’t say anything for a long time, just shifts until her little shoulder’s digging into his side, and it ain’t so bad, having her close and safe.  Fact is, she’s warm and she’s soft and she’s alive, and Daryl Dixon’s over the fucking moon.  Close as he’s ever been anyway.   

 

 

 

 

“You’ll stay?  You won’t leave?” 

 

 

 

 

 

“Ain’t goin’ nowhere without ya.” 

 

 

 

 

 

“Thank you, Mr. Dixon.” 

 

 

 

 

 

Uncomfortable with her simple words of gratitude, he sputters, “Right.  Yeah.  What I tell you ‘bout restin’ up?  Mornin’s gonna be here ‘fore you know it.” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is love. 
> 
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> 
> Thanks for reading!!!


	12. "You shouldn't be trusted with small children, should you?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little follow up to “Mm. Your kid before five in the morning” because I desperately needed the cheering up and I figured I might not be the only one. 
> 
>  
> 
> Sweet Caryl family AU.

**xx12xx**

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

Arms folded across her chest, teeth sinking into her bottom lip, Carol fought valiantly against laughing out loud.  It was no small feat, especially taking into consideration the fact that her kitchen looked like a spaghetti bomb had been detonated inside of it.  “You shouldn’t be trusted with small children, should you?” 

 

 

 

 

Scout tattled to her in excited yips and deep barks, nails clicking against the tile floor. 

 

 

 

 

Her recently minted kindergartener was suspiciously silent, solemn as a little church mouse with her tiny hands clasped in a prayerful pose.

 

 

 

 

Her husband, though? 

 

 

 

 

It was questionable whether it was tomato sauce or embarrassment staining his cheeks beneath that scruffy five o’clock shadow of his when he whirled around to greet her, but there was no such debate about her bouncing baby boy, kicking and squealing gleefully in his daddy’s outstretched arms.  “Is that a…there’s a noodle hanging out of his nose.  Daryl!” 

 

 

 

 

“Kid coughed and it just… _appeared_ ,” he explained sheepishly.  “Me and ‘Phia were playin’ rock, paper, scissors to decide who was gonna pull it out when the boy grabbed another handful and crammed it down the front of his diaper, and then you…” 

 

 

 

 

Sophia took that as her cue to speak up, her freckled nose wrinkling with disgust.  “Boys are so gross, Mama.  I don’t want to do it.”

 

 

 

 

“And you don’t have to,” Carol reassured her, leaning down to press a kiss to her little girl’s rumpled hair.  “Right, Daryl?”

 

 

 

 

With a put-upon sigh, greatly exaggerated for Sophia’s benefit, her husband agreed.  “Sounds like you’re off the hook, Kid.  Thought we were in this together,” he teased as she happily skipped into the living room, the dog scampering right behind her. 

 

 

 

 

Skillfully sidestepping his attempts to kiss her—and slip their delightfully dirty little wiggling worm into her arms on the sly, she backed one step out of the kitchen, then another and another.  “I’ll just let you two finish up in here.  If it tastes half as good as it looks on you…” 

 

 

 

 

“Try to surprise you and this is the thanks I get?”  He snorted.  “See if I cook dinner for you again, Sweetheart.”   

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is love. 
> 
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> 
> Thanks for reading!!!


	13. "Sorry I yelled at ya."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Series silliness with Judith.

**xx13xx**

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

“Sorry I yelled at ya.”  Daryl’s apology is gruff, grudging, and to the point. 

 

 

 

 

From her vantage point across the kitchen, Carol hides her smile. 

 

 

 

 

Judith is stubbornly unimpressed, the pout she’s sporting all but dragging the floor and her skinny arms winding even tighter across her chest.

 

 

 

 

“Well?”  Pleading blue eyes catch hers over the top of the littlest Grimes’s head. 

 

 

 

 

“Judith,” she prompts.        

 

 

 

 

“Do I hafta?  It wasn’t even locked.” 

 

 

 

 

“Doors are usually closed for a reason.” 

 

 

 

 

“ _Fi_ - _ine_.  M’sorry, too.” 

 

 

 

 

“’Pology accepted.” 

 

 

 

 

“Good.” 

 

 

 

 

“Good?” 

 

 

 

 

“Good.  Still don’t understand what birds and bees have to do with it, though.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is love.
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>  
> 
> Thanks for reading!!!


	14. "They're damn cute when they're asleep."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place in the same little universe first established in “Mm. Your kid before five in the morning." 
> 
>  
> 
> Some Christmas silliness and fluff–three months early, hahaha.

**xx14xxx**

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

With the credits to _A Christmas Story_ scrolling across the television screen for probably the fifth time that day, Daryl crept into the darkened living room, two steaming mugs of hot chocolate carefully cradled to his tee-shirt clad chest.  “You sure I shouldn’t…” 

 

 

 

 

A low, muffled hiss coming from the pile of plush blankets on the couch cut him off.  “Shh.” 

 

 

 

 

Clueless and unconcerned, he tried again, wincing as he stepped on one of the numerous toys scattered around the hardwood floor.  “Maybe ‘Phia would like…” 

 

 

 

 

This time, a head of disheveled red curls appeared and two sleep hazy blue eyes, and the hiss was louder, more _emphatic_ as it attempted to silence him.  “Shh.” 

 

 

 

 

Finally catching on to his wife’s game, Daryl couldn’t help the slow smirk that spread over his scruffy face as he teased her.  “Well, well.  Didn’t know I was sharin’ a bed with the Grinch.”  He nudged her over with his knee before joining her, almost immediately finding himself minus one mug of marshmallow topped cocoa.  Not another second ticked by before two fuzzy socked feet landed in his lap, and he grunted out a warning, one dark blond brow arched in amusement as he held her in place.  “Careful there, Sweetheart.  It’s hot.”      

 

 

 

 

 

“And I’m cold,” she reminded him with a pout.  A lift of his arm was all the encouragement she needed before she was cuddling against his side and resting her cheek contentedly over his heart.  

 

 

 

 

Stretching his other arm out, he deposited his own mug on a coaster for the time being and nuzzled her sweet-smelling hair, allowing himself to enjoy and indulge in a moment he never dreamed of growing up Dixon.  The twinkling Christmas lights and the dog snoozing beneath the tree, the miles of wrapping paper and the two tuckered out little angels snuggled up all sweet, _her_ —he never, in a million and one years, expected any of it.  “They’re damn cute when they’re asleep.” 

 

 

 

 

She hummed softly, drowsily.  “Quiet, you mean?” 

 

 

 

 

He hid his grin in her hair.  “Didn’t say that.” 

 

 

 

 

“Didn’t have to,” she murmured.  “You’re just as tired as me.  Don’t even try to deny it, Pookie.” 

 

 

 

 

Damn right, he was.  No sooner than their heads had hit their pillows, the stars just beginning to fade from the night sky,  had Sophia tiptoed into their bedroom and announced that Santa had made his much anticipated annual visit.  Still, he wasn’t about to admit defeat.  “Think you’re cute, huh?”

 

 

 

 

She lifted her cheek from his chest and gazed up at him with dancing, tender eyes, her pretty pink lips twitching.  “You do, too.” 

 

 

 

 

Giving in pretty quickly, he curled his arm around her slender shoulders and pulled her in for a sweet, lingering kiss.  “Got me there.  Fuck, if I don’t love you, Woman.” 

 

 

 

 

“Bad Santa,” she laughed into his mouth. 

 

 

 

 

Daryl groaned and nipped playfully at her retreating lips, relieving her of her mug and setting it aside so he could haul her properly into his lap.  “I’m just sayin’,” he smirked once she was astride him, her full sweet weight bearing down deliciously in all the right places.  “It’s a wonderful life.  I could go on all night, Sweetheart.  You’re not gonna win this war.  Not when I’m holdin’ me a Christmas Carol.” 

 

 

 

 

“Are you saying you’d rather be home alone?” 

 

 

 

 

He snorted and slid his hands down her hips to her ass.  “What?  You takin’ the kids and checkin’ into the Holiday Inn?” 

 

 

 

 

Muffling her laughter against the warm crook of his neck, she wrapped her arms loosely around his shoulders and combed gentle fingers through the ends of his mussed hair.  “You look like an elf in those ridiculous pajamas.”

 

 

 

 

“’Phia hears you, it’ll break her heart and you know it.” 

 

 

 

 

His gruff admonishment had her sitting up and looking at him with her heart in her eyes, cupping his face between trembling hands.  “Fuck, if I don’t love you, too.”

 

 

 

 

That particular word falling from her lips was a rarity, something he could quite literally count on one hand, but every time, every damn time, it affected him the same way and he growled as he surged forward and kissed her until she was breathless and beaming.  “Next year we should take us a Christmas vacation.  Maybe have a white Christmas.” 

 

 

 

 

“Daryl Dixon, you rat, you.” 

 

 

 

 

She shoved at his shoulders, but her blue eyes were twinkling just as pretty and bright as the strings of lights surrounding them and he stared at her in wonder. 

 

 

 

 

“What?” she stopped long enough to murmur when one of his rough hands slid beneath her shirt and up the expanse of her silky back. 

 

 

 

 

“Nothin’,” he answered her with a shrug.  “Just thinkin’.”    

 

 

 

 

Stroking her own hand down his other forearm, she claimed his hand and wove their fingers together, bringing it around her front to palm her belly.  She rest her forehead against his and lightly nuzzled his nose.  “You sure you’re happy about your gift?  I know it was a surprise, and it’s not like you can go stand in line at the mall to return it.”  Her pearly teeth bit into her lip as she offered him a sheepish smile.  “Not any vacations in the near future, I’m afraid.  Just more diapers and sleepless nights and Daryl,” she finally paused to take a shaky breath.  “Please say something.  You haven’t said much of anything at all.  I know this isn’t what we planned.” 

 

 

 

 

“You really _are_ cute, you know that?  ‘Specially when you’re gettin’ yourself worked up over nothin’.” 

 

 

 

 

“Nothing?  We’re going to have three children six and younger beneath this roof next year, and you’re not even the least bit overwhelmed?  Because I’m more than a little bit overwhelmed.  You realize, don’t you, that we’re probably never going to get a full night’s rest again?  Not just on Christmas Eve but any night?” 

 

 

 

 

Relinquishing her hand, Daryl hooked a finger beneath her chin.  “You finished?” 

 

 

 

 

“Am I finished?” she scoffed.  “Am I…I’m being serious.” 

   

 

 

“Me, too,” he told her, reaching out to grab her hot chocolate and offering it up to her as a measure of comfort.  “Here.  Drink.  Count to ten.  Shit.  Just breathe, Sweetheart.  Breathe.”  His eyes roved over her flushed face as she did as he instructed and sipped at the drink.  Fingering one of her red curls, he waited for her to come back to herself and calm down, one corner of his mouth threatening to lift into a smile.  “That’s it,” he encouraged as she took a deep breath. 

 

 

 

 

“You’re really not worried?” 

 

 

 

 

“Oh, no doubt about it.  We’re scrooged.”  He gathered her closer with a little grin and dropped a kiss into her unruly hair.  “Know what that means, though, Sweetheart?” 

 

 

 

 

 

“I’m afraid to ask,” she muttered dryly. 

 

 

 

 

“Just means we’re gonna have to get more elves.  And some better locks.”

 

 

 

 

“Better locks?  Daryl Dixon, if you think we’re going to have enough energy to do _that_ ,” she censored herself with a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure the two babies they already had were still sound asleep.  They _were_ , curled up beneath blankets of tinsel and torn wrapping paper, and her heart gave a funny little flutter at the sweet sight, taking much of the bite out of her ensuing warning.  “You have another thing coming.” 

 

 

 

 

“Better get it out of our systems then,” he teased.  “Practice bein’ quiet.  Know it’s gonna be a real challenge for you.” 

 

 

 

 

“One more word.  One more.  And I’m going to show you how the Grinch stole Christmas.” 

 

 

 

 

“ _Damn_.  You win, Sweetheart.  You win.”    

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is love. 
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!!!


	15. "It's really not that complicated."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teen Caryl AU. I blame my growing weakness for teen Caryl on this. 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> To be continued? That depends, lol.

**xx15xx**

 

* * *

 

 

 

_It’s really not that complicated._

 

 

 

 

 

He’s been half in love with her since the 3rd grade. 

 

 

 

 

Wonder Woman lunchbox in hand, sweet smile on her pink lips, she’d braved all the bullies’ taunts and quietly joined him at his lonely table.  Introduced herself by offering him her small, delicate hand and shrugging off his feigned indifference when he’d just stared at it, plopping down on the plastic seat beside him and crossing her ankles before opening up her lunchbox.  She’d offered up half of her peanut butter and jelly sandwich and her easy friendship, not even blinking those big blue beautiful eyes of hers at the fact that she’d breached that invisible divide with such a simple gesture.  That gulf that existed between being popular and being one of the outcasts. 

 

 

 

 

So, yeah.  He’s been half in love with her since the 3rd grade and it’s too bad, really.  Because she’s one of the best friends he’s ever had.  _The_ best friend, actually, and he’s not about to do something stupid like blurt out his true feelings on prom night.  He don’t care that she’s his date or that Glenn and Tara seem to think it’s a good idea.  What do they even know about it anyway?  They’re just a couple of freshman band nerds crashing a party, Eugene and Olivia’s dates because friendship is solidarity and he should know.  Shouldn’t he? 

 

 

 

 

 

 _Shouldn’t_ _he_?

                                                                                                    

 

 

 

The fast song that’s been matching the irrational pounding of his heart morphs into something slow, something sweet that makes Carol sway in her borrowed heels, those long, crazy red curls of hers slithering across her bare back and making him think of a gypsy queen.  Whatever that even is, and _shit_.  He really shouldn’t have let Merle talk him into that swig of Jim Bean to relax him because he thinks it’s backfiring.  Igniting little sparks all throughout his bloodstream and making his palms itch to touch her, his fingertips ache to trace and map out all those pretty freckles, and _Jesus_ _Christ_.  He really needs some air. 

 

 

 

 

The grass beyond the gymnasium is overgrown.  The trees tall and looming, casting long shadows on the crowded gravel parking lot and shrouding the blanket of stars winking overhead. 

 

 

 

 

The music is muted out here, just a hum beneath the crickets’ insistent song, and Daryl welcomes the respite.  The familiarity.  He tears at his knotted tie with fumbling fingers and takes a ragged breath, lets the sultry spring Georgia air swallow him up in her embrace while he wills his heart to calm. 

 

 

 

 

 

Ultimately, it’s as useless an endeavor as trying not to love her.  _Impossible_.    

 

 

 

 

Because he opens his eyes and she’s _right_ _there_.  Just like that moment all those years ago now.  Just as quietly and just as bravely, she’s sought him out and her painted lips are lifted in a smile, sweet and easy, and hell if he don’t feel guilty for abandoning her back there.  But he don’t have near the courage she does.  Never has and probably never will.  Hell of it is, he’s pretty sure they both know it.  Gruffly, he lets her off the hook.  “Didn’t have to follow me.” 

 

 

 

 

“I know.”  Her answer is soft and simple and she steps closer, the sequins on her fitted skirt catching the faint light and shimmering.  She tilts her head and wrinkles her nose, lifting one hand to her shoulder to toy absently with the thin spaghetti strap dark against her pale skin.  Letting the other brush up against his own, warm and hesitant.  “But _Every_ _Breath_ _You_ _Take_ started playing and you know how I feel about that song.” 

 

 

 

 

Nodding in understanding, he agrees and shifts on his feet as he searches his pockets for a cigarette, subtly pulling away from her and putting some space between them again.  “Song’s creepy.” 

 

 

 

 

 

“Yeah.”    

 

 

 

 

 

She shudders for effect but she’s still smiling that smile at him, and he forgets all about the cigarette, tucking the unlit stick of tobacco behind one of his ears instead.  Watches her.  Because she’s swaying gently once more, to music only she can hear, and he’s entranced.  His heart racing again and his throat dry and awkward apologies are tumbling from his traitorous lips before he can make half an effort to stop them.  “Ain’t much good at this.”

 

 

 

 

“You don’t say.” 

 

 

 

 

She’s teasing and he knows it.  But his insecurities run deep and he denies her the smile she’s angling for, the reassurance.  “M’serious.  You deserve better.  Somebody that ain’t so fucked up.  Ain’t even a good friend.” 

 

 

 

 

She stumbles to a stop then, her feet rooted to the spot.  Her eyes flash with anger, instant and white hot, and her hands dart out.  Grab the loose ends of the noose she’d begged him to agree to wear and tug.  “You take that back.” 

 

 

 

 

He ducks his head, swears beneath his breath when she pulls him closer.  “Which part?” 

 

 

 

 

“Every part,” she demands, abandoning his tie to grip his broad shoulders.  Travel up his neck to cup his face.  “You take back all of it.” 

 

 

 

 

He refuses.  Can’t even bear to look at her.  Because she’s beautiful in ways that make his heart hurt.  She’s bold in ways that just reinforce his feelings of inadequacy.  She’s the best friend he’s ever had and he’ll gladly fuck that up to save her from a nobody like him because she _does_ deserve better.  She deserves _everything_.  “Can’t,” he says.  “Won’t,” he insists when her pretty features twist into a frown, sadness tugging heavily at the corners of her mouth.  

 

 

 

 

Unsure fingers sweep through his shaggy hair and she sighs, leans her forehead against his own.  “Why?” 

 

 

 

 

His mouth works to form the words with difficulty, all the reasons why she shouldn’t look back, should run as far and as fast as she can in the other direction, but all he can manage is a hoarse, “Because.” 

 

 

 

 

Frustrated, she pulls at the ends of his hair.  Takes a page out of his book and growls. 

 

 

 

 

It’d be funny.  Damn cute if his heart wasn’t threatening to split open wide.  But it _is_ and it _ain’t_.  He’s pulling away before she’s even had a chance to respond, turning his back on her and walking away.  He doesn’t get far.  She doesn’t let him before her soft voice stops him, makes everything, _everything_ stutter to a stop.  His heart.  His lungs.  The whole wide world around them. 

 

 

 

 

“They’re right, you know.  Tara and Glenn.” 

 

 

 

 

Slowly, he turns.  Stares at her as if he’s never seen her before.  And maybe he hasn’t.  Not _this_ version of her.  Because her blue eyes draw him in, deep and daring and brimming with unspoken emotion.  “Hell did you just say?” 

 

 

 

 

“I said they’re right.  Tara and Glenn.  It’s really _not_ that complicated.”      

 

 

 

 

“Stop.  Just stop.”  He pleads with her, but he knows it’s no use.  She’s stubborn.  Strong.  A helluva lot stronger than he is, and there’s the rub.  “You don’t know…” 

 

 

 

 

“I _do,_ Daryl.  I know.  You really think I don’t?” 

 

 

 

 

“Carol, please.” 

 

 

 

 

“No.  _No_.  It’s not that complicated.  You either love me or you don’t.  Which is it, Daryl Dixon?” 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is love. 
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> Thanks so much for reading!!!

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is love. 
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> Thanks for reading!!!


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